From Wounds to Wellness and What Happened In Between
by Em Lee Squared
Summary: Co-written with the owner of Tumblr's ask-thegoldking. Lieutenant Kokujouji is hurt on the battlefield, but the devastating number of German casualties make his bullet wound look like nothing but a playground injury. So dangerously close to losing the war, the injured Japanese is the least of the Party's worries. However, young researcher Adolf Weismann can think of nothing else.


**A/N: **This fic is co-written with ask-thegoldking on Tumblr. Go check out her ask blog!

Adolf was certainly no doctor, but he possessed a compassion and gentleness that no other Nazi could even come close to rivaling. He was a fitting caretaker—too fragile to be on the battlefield and almost too pure for his own research, hellbent on _helping_ people in a hopeless world full of death, discrimination, and heartlessness. The medical personnel were too busy anyway, after the most recent of air raids. Health ward beds were filled over capacity, the staff was spread too thin to be properly functional, and at a time like this when Berlin was in danger of being razed to the ground, the last thing the Party cared about was Weismann's special mouse.

"The use of your laboratory space is now allocated to the housing of more wounded, Dr. Weismann. You are not to protest or complain."

The orders were orders, and he saluted with an abrupt though reluctant nod of his head, his right hand raised firmly above him in a salute to Der Führer. Once again, the ideals he did not believe in and the war he only wanted to end were interfering with the research he was convinced would bring the world peace and happiness. A heavy sigh racked his shoulders when the higher-ups left him and some of the lesser medical personnel began carrying in Germany's wounded soldiers and allies on bloodied cloth stretchers.

One such newly admitted patient was much more than a soldier, however.

The lieutenant hadn't said a word the entire time the medics carried his stretched to the laboratory. As they explained where they were taking him, he only answered with a brisk and terse nod of his head. To say he was displeased with the situation was a vast understatement, but he had to commend himself for being able to keep himself from being vocal about it. Even a more or less reserved man like himself could not be blamed for being furious with various things about the situation – and many were – but he merely kept his tongue in his cheek and his opinions held behind tightly pressed lips. After all, his complaining wouldn't go past the medics and there wasn't much they could do. They were grunts, at the very most – kind, gentle, talented, thankless grunts. His words would fall on hopeless ears and, aside from wishing to be respectful to them, he certainly didn't think it was a wise idea to upset those who would be tending to him.

Every step of the medics' feet sent a light jolt through the stretcher. Each footfall sent pain emanating from the bullet wound in his side to the rest of his body from the crown of his head to his toes, first in sharp and then throbbing ripples. Blood still decorated his uniform as brightly as the medals and soaked through the bandages currently wrapped around his lower abdomen. The wound had just recently stopped bleeding heavily, but Lieutenant Kokujouji's fingers were still twitching with anxiety. He was doing no good here, lying in a hospital stretcher headed for an overcrowded medical sanctuary where he would only take away the desperately needed attentions of doctors and other personnel. It made him restless, knowing his would was most likely the farthest thing from fatal, knowing the bleeding would stop soon enough, but he was here instead of where he was most needed on the battlefield and it was all due to friendly fire, no less. Some stupid amateur's mistake had put him here – not some kind of heroic deed in the service of his country and countrymen, or in aide of his allies and their families. The thought made his blood boil and his wound throb, making him a bit lightheaded. He settled back into the filthy cloth of the stretcher and closed his eyes, concentrating on slowing his breathing and relaxing his body. He really could use another bandage, he thought, but with as busy and hectic as the medical staff was at the moment, like hell he was going to ask.

Adolf stood by, silent and unknowing, and wrung his hands with his eyes on the floor as one of the rooms he had been using as a laboratory slowly filled with moaning and writhing. Darkness and pain were being introduced into Adolf's sanctuary and tainting the one place he felt at peace. Never before had he felt so intruded upon and so violated, and yet his orders were orders. If he was shown to be disobedient or even so much as reluctant, his funding would be cut, his loyalty questioned, and his life endangered. He would manage to downsize his lab, although he was more worried about having to put up with the agonized noises coming from the wounded who surrounded him.

The stench of blood and death as it spread through the lab like a thick, invisible smoke was nothing short of nauseating, and Adolf lifted trembling hands to his stomach when he nearly doubled over from sudden weakness and a need to vomit. His heart rose to his throat and he struggled not to choke on his own air when the last stretcher was carried in and, when there was no remaining space to be found within the main room of the laboratory, placed directly within Adolf's office. Silver hair swirling around his shoulders as he walked, he followed the last of the wounded into his office thinking that to deal with the pained grunts and complaints of one was better than an entire roomful. Frankly, Adolf wasn't sure if he would be able to stomach being in such close proximity to even one of the many casualties, but if he was to continue with his research, he had no choice.

Choice—an interesting concept, and not one he had been in possession of from the moment he had signed on with the Party.

Kokujouji heard a total of two doors open and close, and after the second, the stench of blood and the chorus of moans and whines began to fade. He sighed as his stretcher was finally set on a low, makeshift bed that had been set up on the floor. Only when he heard the German medics leave and close the door softly behind him did he open his eyes and find himself in an oddly familiar place. He appeared to be in Weismann's office, a place he had visited many times to check up on the young man and his sister and primarily, he told himself at least, their progress. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the room besides himself, which was simultaneously a relief and a further annoyance. As much as he appreciated the quiet and cleanliness, he strongly disliked being given any kind of special treatment, and he outright hated encroaching on the young scientist's space for fear that it would interfere with his work on the Dresden Slate. That stone could turn this war around, and it was so desperately needed. He would rather die on the streets than hinder the progress in research on it.

The tanned skin, almond eyes, and scruffy shoulder-length hair that Adolf suddenly laid eyes on was much too familiar for the scientist's liking. Ultimate realization dawned on him, and a squeak escaped from his throat not dissimilar to that of one of his mice.

Only when he heard the timid noise did the lieutenant realize he was not alone in the room after all. He managed to spot Adolf amidst the shelves and their contents, looking rather alarmed. Daikaku lifted himself onto his elbows, eliciting a wince and a muffled groan of pain from him. After he recovered, he opened his mouth to speak and soon realized he had no idea what to say. He pondered it for a moment, and the only thing he could come up with was a mumbled, "How's your research coming, Weismann?"

Adolf blinked in surprise and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the bright crimson on the side of the lieutenant's usually crisp uniform shirt. Every word he wanted to say refused to be uttered, but he finally managed, "Lieutenant, your wounds—are they serious?" and before he even had time to register his movements, the young researcher was kneeling beside the makeshift cot that now took up a large portion of his cramped office space.

The lieutenant was taken aback by the scientist's concern. He started to sit up and, immediately thinking better of it after another sharp stab of pain, decided to lower himself back down to lay back on the cot. He looked at Adolf silently for a moment, then shook his head. "Not that I can tell, and no one has told me otherwise. Just painful and inconvenient," he responded, pressing his hand and applying some pressure to his side. "I'm sorry we're taking up all of your space... Now, answer my question."

As always, Adolf found the Japanese man's soft accent alluring and inviting, like the smooth deepness of the lieutenant's voice was drawing him closer with every word.

"Of course, sir, forgive me."

Bangs fell into his eyes when Adolf bowed his head in apology, and he kept his head downward when he began to describe the results of his latest set of experiments. He ignored the lieutenant's grunt of dissatisfaction that followed the description of one disastrous trial and did his best to continue on with better news—anything to lift Kokujouji's spirits after such an unfortunate occurrence.

All of a sudden, Adolf cut himself short in the midst of one of his procedural narratives, abruptly rising from his kneeling position and proceeding to dig around in one of his larger desk drawers until he found what he was looking for.

"With your permission," he began, "I'd like to continue my progress report once you're fully taken care of, especially since it seems no one else is going to do it."

The request was shocking to Daikaku at first. He looked at Adolf blankly, blinking at him cluelessly for a moment before looking down at his wound and back up to the scientist. "No, no. That won't be necessary. You have better things to do, as does the medical staff. Don't waste your time with something like that," he insisted, though he couldn't help a light blush coming to his cheeks. He couldn't quite figure out why it was there - there was nothing to be embarrassed about and, frankly, he didn't care all that much. He just found himself unexplicably flustered. "Get on with the progress report. I'm sure that alone will make me feel much better."

_You really don't understand, do you?_ Adolf wanted so badly to ask the question aloud, but of course such a show of disrespect would earn him a punishment not worth the opportunity to speak his mind a single time.

However, was the direct disobedience of an order any better?

A distinctive snap sounded against both of Adolf's wrists when he pulled the gloves in place to coat his hands and protect them from the thick, warm blood still oozing from Kokujouji's wound, and the researcher breathed in deeply as his shaking hands hovered slightly above the lieutenant's uniform shirt. He really was no doctor, but a simple bandage application was obviously necessary before the blood dried and stuck uncomfortably to the rough fabric of the Japanese military attire. Slowly, hesitantly, Adolf let one hand near the top button of his supervisor's uniform. He met Kokujouji's eyes and raised his pale eyebrows as if to ask for permission.

Kokujouji scowled at the young man. After a day like this one, with as much as he had endured and how furious he still was about it all, even the slightest disobedience was the last thing he wanted, and it was more than he would be able to handle normally, under these circumstances.

However, he could tell by the way Adolf looked at him that he wanted to say something more, and Kokujouji appreciated his silence so deeply that, at last, he sighed and nodded slightly, offering that permission that Adolf had seemed to look for. Surely it wouldn't hurt anything, right? It needed to be done, and Adolf was right - no one else was going to be able to attend to him after such an eventful day, and the drying blood was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

The lieutenant reached up to unbutton his shirt himself. If Weismann insisted on applying new bandages, he was at least going to help him out a bit, even if that was not at all what Adolf had had in mind.

Just as quickly as the Japanese man had lifted his hands to the buttons, Adolf had shooed them away to take over the job for themselves.

"Don't strain yourself, Lieutenant. Please just stay still, and this will be much easier. Besides, aren't you in any pain?"

Adolf made quick work of the gold buttons, one or two near the lieutenant's abdomen smeared and stained with congealing red. Initially it felt strange to be performing an action so _intimate_ with Kokujouji, but after a few moments, Adolf no longer thought of it as such—he was more focused on the wound he found when the belt was unfastened and the uniform jacket pulled away to reveal a bare chest and a small entry wound which appeared much longer given the extensive radius of deep red surrounding it.

Kokujouji flinched with every movement of the cloth against him, even as gentle and careful as Adolf was. The younger man peeled away his shirt and it was all the lieutenant could do to bite into his lip and keep himself quiet. When Weismann began unwinding the soaked bandages, Kokujouji dug his fingernails into the sides of the cot, though his hands shook with weakness. But the most painful part of the entire process was when the cool air in the room hit the wound for the first time since it had initially been bandanged. There was a deep, sharp sting that sent pained shivers up his spine and he gasped, but seconds later, the pain was ebbing away and the coolness of the room began to sooth the angry flesh surrounding the bullet hole.

Despite his lack of medical training, Adolf worked quickly and efficiently, liberally applying a disinfectant ointment and wrapping the bandage firmly enough for support but weakly enough to allow the wound to breathe.

Even then, Kokujouji could feel the heat in his face and know that the blush was still there. While Adolf had been undressing him, it had never crossed his mind how strange and intimate it felt, how different this was from a medic performing the same task. But now that the pain was taking the edge off of his thoughts and he could fully assess the situation again, the blush on his cheeks brightened a bit. Frustrated, he turned away from Adolf in an attempt to hide it and grumbled, "Well, get on with it, Weismann. You don't have all day..."

"Why not?" he replied without thinking before the words left his mouth.

Kokujouji scowled at the young man and gingerly lifted himself onto his elbows again with a grunt. "What do you mean, 'why not?'" he asked. "You've still got research to do. You haven't completely figured out that damn Slate of yours, have you?" After he said it, he immediately regretted it. Although he stuck behind his words, his tone was perhaps too harsh. He looked down at the bandages for a moment and then said, more softly, "Thank you for taking care of that..."

A few anguished moans echoed through the office door from the main room of the lab, followed by the sound of an outer door opening and closing with the arrival of a couple of medics, severely outnumbered by patients but still working to the best of their ability.

Adolf raised his eyebrows and inclined his head towards the door to indicate the activity occurring outside. "Can't do much when my lab's been taken over, can I?" His tone held an amount of sass and firmness that seemed an attempt to give the lieutenant a taste of his own medicine. Adolf wasn't easily fazed, in part especially because he knew Kokujouji was right. It was true that he was far from revealing all of the Dresden Slate's properties and, despite his progress, there was still a long way to go.

A moan which degenerated into a high-pitched whine as a doctor likely began some form of procedure with minimal anesthetic prompted Adolf to turn his mind to other matters such as the reddening of the Japanese man's tanned cheeks. A fever, perhaps? Adolf prayed not. A fever at this stage could indicate a fast-spreading infection, not something easily overcome without a fully-equipped hospital.

Distracted by the noises from outside, Kokujouji was too late in noticing Adolf's hand approaching his face to swat it away. When the back of the young researcher's hand finally reached him, he strongly debated shoving it aside. How rude of the scientist to touch him so casually, and without permission! But for some reason, he found that he didn't mind quite as much as he normally would. In fact, the slight warmth of Adolf's skin had a calming effect on him. He was very silent throughout the encounter, though he kept his brown eyes locked to Adolf's. Even his breathing was shallow and quiet. There was a hint of tension in the air, and perhaps it had been there all along, but he had just now really noticed it.

Adolf's hand, perhaps lingering a bit longer than necessary, came away closer to cold and clammy than hot and sweaty.

The lieutenant laid back completely in his cot and sighed, closing his eyes to protect them from the harsh overhead lighting. "You think I have a fever?" he inquired. "I don't think it's quite bad enough for that."

In response, Adolf only shrugged and sighed in defeat with the realization that he really didn't know if cold and clammy was better or worse than the heat he expected from a fever. The tiny hint of a smile played at his lips in his struggle to overcome his concern, but it was fairly obvious that the smile was not one of genuine joy but instead one of obligation—a feeble attempt to improve the lieutenant's mood. After a few awkward moments of silence, Adolf found himself focusing on Kokujouji's forehead and the way that the touch of the other man's skin still tingled against his fingers. Never before had such a sensation spread throughout him with so much force, especially not as the result of contact with another human being.

Butterflies tumbled in his stomach and rose to his throat in a search for freedom, simultaneously closing his airway and jumbling the few thoughts left in his brain until he could no longer form, much less speak, any type of coherent thought.

Suddenly, an urge overcame him, and he found himself leaning over Kokujouji with his lips dangerously close to the soldier's forehead. Another instant, and his lips would have been pressed against the clammy skin.

"Weismann?"

Adolf didn't even realize his eyes had been closed until he opened them, only to find himself staring straight into Kokujouji's intense, deep brown gaze. What he found in those eyes was so much different than the lieutenant's usual outward appearance—a welcoming place, a curious place, an invitation of sorts, though for what exactly, Adolf was uncertain. Friendship? Something more? It was impossible to tell, though just as impossible to deny that Kokujouji wasn't desiring some form of a closer relationship, something less formal at the very least.

As quickly as the silver-haired man had leaned forward, he scooted back onto his knees and giggled.

Kokujouji didn't miss the red heat of embarrassment tinting the researcher's ears and cheekbones. "What's so funny?"

Nothing was funny at all about how much Adolf wanted things to be more intimate between them, and he figured the best place to start would be to rid themselves of the formalities and the titles.

"Lieutenant, may I call you Daikaku?"


End file.
